


the homestretch of the hard times

by LostInAdmiration



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (kinda?), Adult Losers Club (IT), Character Study, Everybody Lives, F/M, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Stan POV, but everyone's well on their way to a happy ending, but he loves his wife and the losers and they love him right back, lots of talks about trauma, stan is an unreliable narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostInAdmiration/pseuds/LostInAdmiration
Summary: He hadn’t gone back to Derry when Mike had called. Instead, he had been immediately overtaken by a blinding fear that had clutched onto his chest and held on so tight that he’d wished he was dead, just so he didn’t have to endure it anymore. Memories long forgotten of sewers and glowing eyes and the smell of rotting bodies tore through his quiet life and left cracks in the sunshine yellow of his walls. It had sent Stan reeling, and he knew then that he couldn’t face going back.-Or: Stan didn't go back to Derry, but he didn't die, either. He has a lot of leftover guilt to deal with, but luckily he has the best wife in the world and six of his closest friends to help him out.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, The Losers Club & Stanley Uris
Comments: 22
Kudos: 119





	the homestretch of the hard times

**Author's Note:**

> i know there are a whole bunch of quality fics about the Losers going on holiday together post chap 2, but I wanted to write about Stan getting to live and love his wife and his friends like he should have, so this beach house fic happened.
> 
> warnings for talk about suicide and suicidal idealisation, as well as plenty of talk about trauma - take care of yourself!

Stan hadn’t seen his friends in one hundred and eighty three days, according to every X marked across the calendar in his office, and he missed them all terribly. He’d spent twenty-seven years without them all - without knowing what it was like to have them in his life as adults - but now he had them back, being away from them was almost physically painful. 

Of course, he’d never tell them that. 

“Aw, do you miss us, Stanley?” Richie crooned down the phone when Stan called him. They checked in on each other often now; mostly through the group chat they all had, but Stan preferred to call. It felt more real that way, less like something he could lose.

“Absolutely not,” Stan replied flatly. “I miss Eddie, maybe, but you? Never.”

Richie laughed loudly. The sound was tinny through the phone’s speakers, but it was still so undeniably _Richie_ that it made Stan smile to himself.

“You wound me,” Richie replied, and Stan could picture him easily, hand pressed to his chest in mock offence but still grinning wide. 

“I was calling to ask if you’re all set for the vacation?” Stan asked. He knew that they were, because he and Eddie had talked over their plans at least six times this week alone, but he needed an excuse so that Richie didn’t make fun of him for just wanting to hear his voice.

“Yessir. The drill sergeant has it all organised. He has an itinerary and everything. It’s got _bullet points,”_ Richie said gleefully. Stan heard a shout in the background, and it made both Stan and Richie snigger. 

There was another shout and a thud on the other end of the line, and Stan rolled his eyes. “What did he say?” 

“He said he’s just being _prepared,_ ” Richie repeated dryly, and then Richie’s voice grew faint as he turned away from the phone. “We’re only going to Miami, Eds, not fucking Antarctica.”

There was another shout, closer this time that Stan could hear it. “Shut the fuck up Richie, the only thing I asked you to do was sort out the hire car and you picked a fucking _Porsche._ ” 

Stan barked a laugh at that, loudly enough that he heard Patty in the next room laugh softly along with him. She didn’t need to know what he was laughing at to laugh with him - she’d told him once that she just liked to hear him happy - and the thought made Stan laugh again. 

“You booked a _Porsche_?” he repeated. “Richie, I shouldn’t need to tell you how impractical that is.”

Stan heard a muffled “ _Thank you,_ Stanley,” from Eddie, and Richie grumbled.

“It was a cool car!” he argued weakly. “I swapped it anyway. We have a very practical Cadillac now for Eddie and his fifty gigantic suitcases.”

There was another protest from Eddie that Stan didn’t catch this time, but it made Richie laugh anyway. 

Patty came into the room then, squeezing Stan’s shoulder as she bent down to kiss his temple, and Stan leaned into it with a smile. He was trying not to be, but he was a little anxious about seeing his friends again. He knew once he saw them the worry would be forgotten, but for now it gnawed at him and made him feel tense all over. Patty’s touch made his shoulders relax without him even needing to think about it, and he looked up to her with another smile in a silent thanks.

Richie spoke again, and it made Stan jolt a little bit, almost forgetting that he was on the phone. “Is your wife prepared for the chaos of the Losers Club?” 

“I don’t think anyone could be prepared for you animals,” Stan retorted. Both Patty and Richie giggled, then Patty prodded him in the arm with a pointed look. “Oh, Patty says hi, by the way, and my coffee is going cold, so I have to go.”

“Hi Patty!” Richie called cheerfully, loudly enough that she could hear. “And coffee after midday? You’re a changed man, Stanley.”

Patty answered for him this time, leaning closer to the phone and resting her hand on the back of Stan’s neck as she did. “It’s decaf, he hasn’t changed at all,” she said, grinning when Richie cackled.

Stan said his goodbyes and hung up, stretching in his chair before taking the hand Patty offered to help him to his feet. 

“Did I hear right that Richie hired a Porsche?” Patty asked, moving her hand so that she could slot her fingers between Stan’s as he trailed behind her, heading towards the living room.

“Eddie should have expected it. Richie’s easily distracted by shiny things,” Stan replied tiredly.

Stan collapsed beside his wife on the couch, humming contentedly when she leaned into his shoulder, her hands curled around her own mug of tea.

“I wouldn’t mind having a Porsche for the week. Maybe Richie and I should get one, and you and Eddie can be the practical grandpa’s you always are,” Patty mused, eyes gleaming over the rim of her mug. Stan just laughed and shook his head, nudging his toe into Patty’s calf.

Their house was always surrounded by a comforting quiet, filled with only the sounds of their old clock ticking rhythmically, and the soft music from their radio drifting through the living room. Neither of them liked to be in complete silence, so the radio was almost always on, often accompanied with Patty’s off key humming that Stan loved more than any song that the radio played. Stan sighed and relaxed further into the couch, grabbing his own mug and breathing in the steam. 

Tomorrow he would be thrown back into the noise and blinding light of all of his friends, and his skin buzzed with the anticipation of it. He hadn’t seen them since the hospital in Derry, when they’d all been damaged and worn out, just ghosts of the people he knew and loved. He couldn’t wait to see them again, back at full volume and vibrant colour.

“What are you thinking about?” Patty asked, wordlessly reaching out to swap her mug of tea for Stan’s coffee once they were half drank. She was trying to trade out coffee for drinking more herbal tea, but Stan still gave her half of his mug every night anyway, because he knew chamomile made her miserable even though she tried to pretend that she liked it.

“Just enjoying my last few hours of peace,” Stan replied with a dramatic sigh, and it made Patty chuckle, clinking her mug against Stan’s.

“Are you excited?” she was smiling as if she already knew the answer, but Stan nodded anyway. 

“It’s been too long. And the last time I saw them, they-” Stan cut himself off and shrugged, and Patty hummed in understanding, linking her and Stan’s ankles together. Stan still couldn’t really talk about it, the guilt of it all still choking him up and making it hard to breathe, and he was grateful that no one ever pushed him to explain himself. 

He hadn’t gone back to Derry when Mike had called. Instead, he had been immediately overtaken by a blinding fear that had clutched onto his chest and held on so tight that he’d wished he was dead, just so he didn’t have to endure it anymore. Memories long forgotten of sewers and glowing eyes and the smell of rotting bodies tore through his quiet life and left cracks in the sunshine yellow of his walls. It had sent Stan reeling, and he knew then that he couldn’t face going back. 

Stan had always thought the dreams he’d had about running away from shape shifting monsters and sharp teeth had been a fantasy, like childhood nightmares he couldn’t shake. But when he remembered and he realised those fantasies had been real, his whole reality had been tilted upside down, and the world he knew didn’t make sense anymore.

He’d almost done something stupid, breaking apart one of his razors by the sink with shaking hands, slicing up his fingers as he tried to pick out the blades. He couldn’t picture the faces of any of the people he’d grown up with, or anything good about Derry at all; all that had come flooding back to him was pure fear. There was nothing else but that fear engulfing his body, and in that moment with cackling laughter echoing through his head and the feeling of a clawed hand wrapped around his throat, Stan had thought there was no other way to escape it. He’d thought he had to die before his world as he knew it crumbled completely and was replaced with the sewers and a monster that was desperate to see him bleed.

Patty had found him curled up in the corner of the bathroom with every light in the house turned on to try and get rid of all of the shadows and bloody palms from where he’d been clutching onto the razor blades. She’d held his hand whilst he cried, tight enough that his knuckles ground together, tight enough that it stopped him from floating away entirely.

None of the Losers had been mad at him. Not when Patty called Mike to tell him she wasn’t letting him out of his sight, and she certainly wasn’t letting him get on a plane to _Derry_ , and not when Stan had turned up to the hospital two days late with apologies rolling off of his tongue and tears streaming down his face. 

They’d all understood completely, and it was more than Stan deserved.

Patty suddenly tapped at Stan’s temple with her finger. “Hey. Get out of your head,” she said, voice soft but commanding, and Stan turned to look at her, blinking slowly. 

“Are _you_ excited?” Stan shot back, shaking off the guilt still heavy on his shoulders. “They’re hard work, you know.”

“I can’t wait. And Richie already told me I’m his new best friend, I think I’ll be replacing you as the seventh member of the club,” Patty joked with a smirk.

Patty had been at the hospital in Derry with Stan too, still insisting she wouldn’t leave Stan’s side, and she had hugged each of his friends as if she’d known them for years. The effortlessness of her place in their group had been clear from the very start, and even clearer with every long distance phone call and her immediate addition to their ridiculous group chat. 

“I don’t doubt it. Like I said, Richie likes shiny things,” Stan replied easily, and Patty giggled, slumping further into Stan’s side.

One hundred and eighty three days was a long time to be apart, but Stan knew that once he got to see his friends again it would be like no time had passed at all. They’d been apart for almost three decades before that, and even then they'd fallen back into each other with practiced ease. 

Still, Stan wanted to make them all promise that they wouldn’t have to wait so long next time. He’d done more than enough waiting to see them for one lifetime. 

*

Stan and Patty made it to the holiday house in Miami first, and both of them had to check four times that they were in the right place.

“This place is _incredible,_ ” Patty gasped, awestruck.

Ben had said he would handle it, since he had friends who owned rental companies from when he’d worked in Miami for a time, and everyone else had happily handed over the responsibility to him. There were eight of them all together, so Stan had known finding somewhere big enough for them all to stay would be almost impossible. He’d been more than a little concerned that they’d all feel too cramped living together and end up wanting to strangle each other before the two weeks were up, but it turned out that he didn’t trust Ben nearly as much as he should.

“I thought places like this only existed in movies,” Patty added when they wandered through the into the kitchen, and Stan hummed in agreement, stumbling over his feet as he looked around. The back wall of the kitchen was just one huge window, looking out onto a pool with water so clear that even _Eddie_ would consider swimming in it, surrounded by polished decking that stretched out until it reached the bay.

“What’s the point in a pool if you’re ten steps away from the bay?” Stan asked with a snort. 

“You can’t swim in the bay anymore,” Patty called back, and Stan heard her make a delighted noise when she wandered into the first bathroom. “Apparently it’s filled with sewage.”

“Did Eddie tell you that?”

“Mike, actually. He visited Biscayne Bay a couple of months ago, remember? But I’m sure Eddie will remind us all,” Patty said fondly, voice echoing through the house. 

The house was pristine, all waxed wooden floors and sleek marble tops, with huge windows looking out onto the bay and the skyline beyond, sun flooding in onto every surface. Even though it was huge and half empty, it still managed to feel like a home.

Ben and Bev arrived next, and after Stan had hugged Bev and said hello, Patty immediately grabbed Bev’s hand to lead her around house, already chattering excitedly to her. Bev had been delighted at meeting Patty for the first time, saying she was glad to finally have a girl in their group, and Patty had looked just as pleased. Both Bev and Patty had the same kind of fire in their eyes, and Ben and Stan watched fondly as they skipped off together to search the house.

Ben turned back to Stan, looking almost bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head.

“What do you think? Is it ok?” he asked, motioning to the house around them.

“Ben, it’s like a goddamn palace. Everyone is going to lose their shit,” Stan replied honestly, making Ben huff a surprised laugh. 

Ben’s face softened as he reached out to put a hand on Stan’s shoulder, and Stan tried his best not to cringe. He knew exactly what was coming, because Ben wore his heart on his sleeve and had the impulsive need to let all of his friends how loved they were whenever he could.

“I’m so glad you’re here Stan. We _all_ are,” he said, voice earnest, and Stan tried his hardest not to squirm away. 

He wasn’t sure if Ben meant here as in this beach house, or here as in just alive in general. But his voice was so sincere that it made Stan shudder, and he had to look away as he mumbled, “Me too.”

He _was_ glad that he was here, alive and in this ridiculously fancy beach house, about to be reunited with the best friends he’d ever had. He wasn’t sure he deserved them, but he was here anyway. 

Ben gave Stan another sweet smile, squeezing Stan’s shoulder before letting go.

“How are you doing?” he asked carefully. From anyone else it might have sounded condescending, and Stan would’ve probably snapped at them. But it was _Ben_ , who was nothing but kindness and sincerity, and instead Stan deflated a little. 

“I-” he started before he panicked, realising that he didn’t know how to answer. Luckily he didn’t have to, because Richie burst through the door as if Stan had willed him into existence just so he could save him from the conversation.

If Ben heard Stan’s relieved sigh as he ducked away to greet his other friends, he didn’t mention it.

“Holy _balls_ , Benny boy, this place is crazy!” Richie shouted down the hallway. Stan heard a muffled cheer from upstairs where Patty and Bev were, then thudding across the hallway as they raced to see Richie. 

Richie was dragging two rolling suitcases and had two holdalls strapped across his chest, as well as a backpack hanging off his forearm. His sunglasses were slowly slipping off of his nose, and he had a big grin on his face when he spotted his friends. 

Stan would never tell him so, but he’d missed Richie the most. 

Richie shuffled himself and his mountain of baggage to the side to let Eddie in the door, and he dropped all of the bags onto the floor unceremoniously with a loud sigh, before pushing his sunglasses back up his face. Eddie came in slowly on his crutches, red in the face and eyebrows knitted together in a concentrated frown until he looked up to see the apartment, and immediately his face cleared.

“Jesus Christ Ben, are you sure you kept to our budget?” he asked, grinning wide as Stan, Ben, Bev, and Patty all made their way over to Eddie and Richie.

“Be careful guys,” Richie called out, curling his fingers around Bev’s wrist when she was close enough so that he could pull her into a hug. “He’s only been out of the wheelchair a week, and Eddie is fuckin' _lethal_ on those sticks.”

Bev laughed loudly as she hugged Richie back just as fiercely as he was hugging her, tucking her face into his neck as he cradled her head and pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Shut up, asshole,” Eddie snapped back. Stan hugged him first, and Eddie leaned heavily into him, letting one of the crutches drop onto the ground as he wrapped one arm around Stan’s middle. “I’m not that bad.”

“You’ve nearly broken my foot at least five times, Eds. And I almost fell down the stairs and snapped my neck ‘cause of those damn things yesterday,” Richie retorted, moving on to hug Ben. Stan didn’t miss how he was keeping one eye on Eddie, even when he was pulled into a group hug with Ben and Bev together. 

“I’m doing that to you on purpose,” Eddie replied flatly.

“Oh, so _that’s_ why you made me renew my life insurance? You gonna kill me in a crime of passion and take all my money?” asked Richie, breaking off his group hug to stoop down and grab Eddie’s dropped crutch, handing it to him once he’d let go of Stan. 

Eddie smirked, sharp and evil. “Trust me, there’ll be no passion involved,” he shot back, making Bev and Patty cackle and Richie grin his grin reserved just for Eddie - the toothy one that made his face scrunch up, like he was so happy it almost hurt.

“Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one!” he crowed, before tackling Stan into a hug that punched the air out of them both.

“Stan The Man, I’ve _missed_ you,” Richie said into his ear, and if Stan didn’t know Richie as well as he did, he might not have heard how his voice wavered ever so slightly when he spoke.

Before Stan could reply Richie had let go of him with one last squeeze to his arm. Stan wasn’t much of a hugger and Richie knew that, so he kept his hugs with Stan brief, but always seemed to make sure to pour as much feeling as he could into the few seconds he got. Bev had done the same when she’d greeted Stan earlier, and Ben had passed on a hug completely without Stan even having to say a thing. These five people - and Bill and Mike, when they arrived - knew Stan even better than he knew himself, and the thought made him a little bit dizzy.

Richie had moved on to hug Patty, embracing her just as gleefully as if she had been his friend for as long as the others had, and pressing a kiss to her cheek whilst she grinned.

Mike and Bill piled in soon after, with another round of noisy greetings and bone crushing hugs that made Stan feel warm all over. Ben wanted to give them all a proper tour of the house, but was overruled by most of the others saying all they needed to know was where the drinks were, so instead they all went out onto the sun-warmed decking, settling themselves down into a loose circle.

Patty laid herself down on one of the sun loungers before shuffling over and patting the space beside her for Stan, who sat at the end of it and pulled Patty’s feet into his lap. Bev and Eddie were sharing another chair, with Richie sat on the ground in front of them, content with one of Eddie’s hands tangled in his hair, threading his fingers through absently. Ben and Bill had laid themselves flat on their backs on the deck, looking like they were glowing from the reflections of the pool and the setting sun, and Mike had rolled his pants up to sit at the pool’s edge, trailing his legs in circles through the water.

As much as the Losers were all chaotic when they were together, there was also a special kind of peace that took over them all once the seven of them were reunited. Stan had never really gotten to appreciate it before, but now he could feel it thrumming through them all, like they’d all been holding tension they hadn’t even noticed up until they got to see each other again.

It got dark quickly, but the lights from inside the house kept the deck illuminated enough as they all passed around two bottles of wine between them, not bothering with glasses.

Stan was drawing absent patterns into Patty’s ankles as she and Mike talked excitedly about a book she’d recommended to him, and Stan was almost certain Ben and Bill had fallen asleep where they were laid down, snoring lightly. Bev, Richie, and Eddie had started a debate about something Stan couldn’t even decipher, but Richie was waving his hands about wildly, sunglasses still crooked on his face.

It was dark now so Richie didn’t need his sunglasses anymore, but Stan knew exactly why he was keeping them on, and it made him feel nauseous. Richie never wanted people to coddle him or feel sympathy for him - it made him squirm just as much as it made Stan do the same - but Richie was around friends, and he had to know that. 

“Take the sunglasses off Rich, you look like a douche,” Stan said tiredly, as if he’d only just noticed.

Even still, Richie tensed up a little bit, face scrunching up into a grimace.

“I’m from LA, we _live_ in sunglasses. Wear ‘em to bed and everything,” Richie shot back, and Eddie’s hand in Richie’s hair moved down to his shoulder.

“You’re from _Maine_ , dipshit,” Eddie corrected. “At least they’re better than the eyepatch. Do you guys understand how many pirate jokes I had to endure?” 

Richie relaxed, chuckling as he tilted his head back to wink at Eddie. “You can still hop on my deck any time, matey,” he crooned, looking delighted when Eddie snorted loudly and clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to stop himself from laughing.

Richie kept his smile as he swapped out his sunglasses for the glasses hooked on his shirt and looked up to stick his tongue out at Stan. 

“Better?” he asked, and Stan's eyes flickered down to where Richie was picking at his cuticles anxiously.

Stan hummed, tilting his head, considering. “You still look like a douche, but I think that’s just you.”

Richie laughed again, sagging back with relief and swapping picking at his fingers to reach up and hold onto Eddie’s hand instead.

None of Stan’s friends had made it out of the sewers unharmed. None of them would tell Stan exactly what had happened, and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. But he couldn’t miss the claw shaped gashes that wrapped around Mike’s forearm, or the indecipherable letters carved out into Ben’s stomach that Stan spotted whenever his shirt rode up. Bev had been hooked up to an oxygen tank when Stan had gotten to the hospital to see them, end even now he could hear the rasping in her breaths and the way she winced whenever she coughed. Bill had hand tremors he couldn’t control that seemed to frustrate him even more than his stutter did, and Stan hadn’t missed how he’d kept his hands curled into fists for most of the night, refusing the wine whenever it was offered to him. 

Eddie had been the worst, and the others especially couldn’t talk about what had happened to him, their faces going white and shudders running through their bodies whenever Stan or Patty had tried to ask. Eddie could barely remember anything himself, but Stan knew that he’d spent a week in an induced coma, and then a month after that stuck in a hospital bed, not knowing if he’d be able to walk out of there once he was discharged. He’d told Stan that he’d probably need a cane for the rest of his life, and still had his wheelchair for bad days, but his smile had been genuine when he’d told Stan he didn’t mind - that it was better than the alternative. 

Then there was Richie. Stan knew from the bits and pieces he’d learned from his friends that Richie had gotten caught in the deadlights. They didn’t know if what had happened to his eye was because of that or not, but Richie’s right eye was damaged, clouded over and faded so much so that his pupil was almost invisible. He’d apparently lost vision in it too, but Richie had quickly turned that into a joke, claiming he was already blind as a bat anyway so he barely noticed a difference. The doctors had just marked it down as head trauma, and he’d been given stronger glasses that magnified his eyes even more than the ones he’d had as a kid did. 

They’d all been to hell and made it back alive, but each all had something marked into their bodies as a reminder, making sure that none of them got to leave it all completely in the past.

All Stan had was a few silvery scars on his fingertips and the palms of his hands from gripping the blades out of his razor with shaking hands, as well as one short ragged mark in the middle of his left wrist, still raised and angry. Stan knew that his scars were nothing compared to his friends, knew he deserved so much worse.

“Stanley?” 

Patty’s voice in his ear made Stan jump ever so slightly, and her fingers curled around his bicep and squeezed as a silent apology before she spoke again. “Hey, Mr Spaceman, want to join us all back down here on earth?” Her voice was soft and careful, but there was a smile in her voice that made Stan smile too.

“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, ducking down so that his forehead was pressed against Patty’s temple. “Got lost in my head again.”

Patty shrugged his apology off. “Everything good up there?” she asked, reaching up to tap her fingers on the top of his head and making Stan smile grow.

He could see the worry clear in her eyes, and it made Stan's chest ache.

“I’m alright,” he replied, tangling his and his wife's fingers together and bringing their joined hands up to kiss her knuckles. 

The guilt would always be there, a dull pain that sharpened whenever he was reminded of what his friends had to go through without him there to help, but Stan could live with that; he deserved the reminder. 

Ben got up to grab blankets for everyone from the house, as well as a few more orders for drinks - Richie had somehow convinced Ben to make him a hot chocolate - and when Eddie offered to get up and help, everyone panicked.

“I’ll help Ben! You can just-” Mike started, turning from where he was still sitting by the pool.

“Oh no, I’m fine, it’s -” Ben talked over him, waving his arms around anxiously.

“E-Eddie, do y-y-you-” Bill began speaking too, but Eddie cut them all off with an exasperated sigh. Richie looked like he was hiding a laugh behind his hands, as if he knew exactly what Eddie was going to say.

“Guys, shut up,” he snapped. “I spent six months in a fucking wheelchair, I’m so _sick_ of sitting down, and by some miracle and a whole lot of physio I can use my goddamn legs now, so I want to actually _use_ them. Don’t treat me like an invalid, that’s bullshit.”

Everyone mumbled quiet apologies, and Eddie’s face melted into something a lot more fond.

“Thanks guys,” he replied softly, letting Richie help him to his feet and hand him his crutches before he followed Ben into the house.

Richie was grinning as he watched Eddie go, and Patty pointed an empty wine bottle at him. 

“How many times have you already heard him rant like that?” she asked, and Richie sniggered as he took Eddie’s place on the sun lounger.

“At least a hundred times a day,” Richie sighed wistfully. “He’s a stubborn little fucker.”

“Wuh-we’re lucky he is, or else w-we wouldn’t h-ha-have-” Bill started, before he cut himself off when he saw how Richie’s face crumpled and how pale Bev had gone, her eyes glossing over. 

They didn’t just talk about it to avoid hurting Stan’s feelings, they _couldn’t_ talk about it. Richie looked terrified whenever they brought it up, like he’d be pulled back there any second, and the tension that rippled through them all made the air feel suddenly cold and rigid, making them all shudder.

Richie shook his head a little bit, pulling himself back from wherever his thoughts had gone before he turned to grin at Bill.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you were his physical therapist. I have to go with him just to make sure she doesn’t end up punching him in the face because he spends the whole session telling her how to do her job right.”

Everyone burst out laughing at that, the heavy tension disappearing as quickly as it had come, though Stan could still see it in Richie's face and how Mike had his shoulders pulled up around his ears. Richie yanked a packet of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket, jumping to his feet before shaking the packet in Bev’s face

“You want a smoke, Bevvie?” 

“I’m trying to quit,” Bev said with a grimace, though her fingers twitched ever so slightly.

“You’re a stronger man than me, Miss Marsh,” Richie said with a wink before disappearing around to the front of the house, a cigarette already between his teeth.

Stan watched Richie go, then he turned back to Patty, who was already looking at him and smiling knowingly. 

“Go keep him company,” she said, tilting her head in the direction Richie had just gone. 

Stan pressed a kiss to Patty’s cheek and squeezed her hand before getting up to follow Richie. Before he’d even turned the corner he saw Bill had taken his place beside Patty, and she was already chatting away excitedly to him. Knowing that his friends saw just how special his Patty was made Stan feel warm all over, and he smiled to himself when Patty and Bill’s laughter rang out around him as he carried on walking.

Richie was hunched over on the front porch, turning his still unlit cigarette around in his fingers, and he jumped when Stan cleared his throat.

“I thought you were supposed to smoke those, not play with them,” Stan said, nodding to the cigarette. 

“Maybe I’m thinking about quitting ‘em too,” Richie retorted as he glared up at Stan, but it was clearly a lie.

“You’ve been hooked on them since we were fifteen, Richie, not even Bev could inspire you to quit that easily.”

“Alright, fine, so I forgot my lighter,” Richie grumbled with a shrug. 

Stan rolled his eyes tiredly, fishing a lighter out of his own pocket and offering it to Richie, who stared incredulously at him.

“Since when did _you_ smoke?” 

“I don’t, but Patty does, sometimes. I keep a pack of menthols and a lighter in my jacket, just in case,” Stan said with a shrug, patting his pocket as he sat down beside Richie. Patty rarely smoked anymore, but he knew it helped when she was anxious - an old habit she could never completely break - so he always kept a pack close.

“You truly are the perfect husband, Stanley Uris. Can _I_ marry you too?” Richie pleaded, leaning heavily into Stan’s side as he lit his cigarette. 

“ _God_ no.”

Richie chuckled, smoke curling out of his nose. “Harsh but fair,” he conceded. Then his voice softened, eyes flitting down to the ground. “How ya doing, Stanley?” He asked before taking another drag and avoiding Stan’s eyes.

Stan bristled, just the same as he had when Ben had spoken to him with the same tone earlier, but he tried his best to push that feeling away. Neither Stan nor Richie liked to talk about their feelings much, and whilst Richie covered it up with jokes and loud voices, Stan just pushed it away entirely. Both of them were trying to get better at not hiding things so much. 

Stan was still new to the whole talking about things instead of pushing them away deal, so instead of answering, he turned to Richie with an eyebrow raised. “How are _you_ doing?” he shot back, because deflecting was always so much easier.

“I asked you first!” Richie protested, stubbing out his cigarette so that he could cross his arms across his chest petulantly. 

“Well I asked you second, and I’m sick of all of the others tip toeing around me to make sure I don’t feel guilty, so I’m asking _you_ because I know you won't bullshit me,” Stan retorted. 

Richie sighed, pulling his shoulders up around his ears and scowling. 

“I don’t know whether to be offended by that or not,” he muttered. “ Fine. I-I’m still having nightmares, and I’m still getting those fucking migraines that make my brain turn to soup. But both me and Ed’s have a — uh, history with being addicted to drugs we didn’t need, so neither of us wanna pop anything stronger than a couple of Tylenol.” As he spoke Richie curled into himself more and more, so Stan shuffled himself a little closer, bumping his and Richie’s shoulders together and smiling when Richie relaxed ever so slightly. 

Stan’s heart ached for Richie, like it ached for all of his other friends and everything they’d been put through. Life hadn’t been kind to any of the Losers, not as children when they lived in a town that was rotting with all of the hate it carried, and not as they grew older either, when they’d been left as empty shells with half their memories gone and an unnamable fear none of them could shake. 

Richie pulled out another cigarette and lit it before speaking again.

“So, I’m even more blind than I used to be, both me and Eds are in pain and grumpy as hell and both having nightmares about monsters like we’re kids again, but-” Richie paused and laughed to himself, shaking his head. “But I’m okay.”

Stan laughed at that, short and sharp. “You’re okay?” he echoed incredulously.

Richie turned to grin at Stan, big and bright even through the film of smoke surrounding him.

“Yup,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Or I’m at least getting there, I guess. I just feel like everything’s-” Richie took a breath, scrunching his face up as he tried to think of the right word. 

“ _-Settled_ now, y’know?”

Stan mirrored Richie’s smile at that, bumping their shoulders together again. Stan thought about how he felt now that he had all of his friends back, and how they’d all integrated into his adult life so easily. He thought about how just being able to talk to them made him feel relaxed and surrounded with warmth, and how with them and Patty supporting him, nothing seemed that scary anymore. 

“I think I know what you mean,” Stan offered, and Richie gave a cheesy two thumbs up that made Stan roll his eyes with a fond smile. 

“Your turn,” Richie demanded, turning himself to face Stan some more before crossing his legs, propping his chin on his free hand and resting his elbow on his knee. “The doctor is in session. Tell me all of your deepest and dirtiest secrets, Stanley.”

Stan gave Richie his best withering look, which Richie completely ignored.

“ _Fine_ ,” he echoed, and Richie flipped him off. Stan didn’t even know where to start, really. He had a hurricane of thoughts and feelings running through him all the time, and he never knew how to get them in enough order to speak them out loud. He was lucky that Patty knew him so well - well enough that she could decipher what he was feeling with just a few garbled sentences - but even around her Stan struggled to talk sometimes. 

“I’m on prozac, now,” he started, and Richie made an encouraging noise. “I think it helps. Stops things feeling so intense. I have a therapist and she’s great, and Patty’s the best, but I-” Stan grunted in frustration, running his hand through his hair and tugging at the curls. It was pathetic, really, how much he was struggling. He had everything in order, was doing everything right, and still something felt out of place. 

If anyone other than Patty would understand, it surely had to be one of the Losers.

“Do you ever feel like you’re waiting for the catch?”

Richie was nodding before Stan could even finish his sentence, the tension in his shoulders returning.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Like things are too normal now, somehow,” it lilted into a question at the end, so Stan mumbled an agreement.

As children, they’d lived in a place where evil resided beneath their feet and had never let them forget it. It was oppressing and left them all with the feeling that they were being followed and would never get away. Stan had forgotten what that evil looked like once he’d left Derry, but that feeling of being followed, of danger just being a few steps behind, never really left. 

When Stan had gotten the phone call, he remembered thinking how much sense everything made all of a sudden. He’d known he'd been living on borrowed time for the past twenty-seven years, and he'd thought that time was up. 

Once the clown was dead, Stan slowly began to realise that feeling was gone, but in its place was a big, black hole of emptiness, like an open wound that had never quite healed properly. Stan felt like he was always waiting for that hole to be filled once more with the danger and the evil that had slowly made a home in his body after decades of it burrowing under his skin. Somehow that feeling of tense anticipation seemed worse than what had been there before. 

“We were scared for our whole lives, and now what we were so scared of is gone. It still doesn't feel real,” Stan said quietly. 

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” Richie mumbled back.

Stan wanted to ask Richie if his fear had been replaced with anger, just like how Stan’s had been replaced with painful guilt. Richie _should_ be mad at Stan - all of the Losers should be - for abandoning them all to fight against something Stan had sworn to fight along with them.

“Speaking of scared-” Stan started, then cleared his throat. He almost didn’t want to say it, in case it would make Richie come to his senses and finally realise what Stan had done to all of them.

“I’m sorry I left you all. I don’t have excuses, but I just wanted to explain, if that’s okay?”

Richie was frowning at Stan, his eyes scanning his face like he was looking for some kind of hidden meaning. Eventually he nodded silently, his cigarette long forgotten and dripping ash between his fingers.

“When Mike called me, I didn’t remember any of you. I know Bev and Ben and Eddie told me that they remembered the Losers first and then the rest after, but all I remembered was the clown,” both Stan and Richie winced at the same time, and Stan distantly wondered if they’d ever be able to talk about it without a sting of horror needling at the back of their minds. “I could see It, clear as day, and everything It did. I was so scared that I thought I was going to die, and then I _wanted_ to die, just to make it all go away.”

Richie shivered at that, face turning down into a grimace, and Stan shrugged it off. Dying didn’t scare him, and neither did wanting to die, really. Thoughts like that had been a part of him for so long that he sometimes forgot that they weren’t normal. 

Richie didn't say a word, so Stan kept on talking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back, I’m sorry you all got hurt and it was my fault. I was selfish,” Stan’s voice was wobbling now, tears clogging his throat. He ducked his head to pick at a hangnail so that he didn’t have to look at his friend’s face, afraid of what he might see there.

“Are you done now?” Richie asked tiredly. Stan’s head shot up then, and he blanched at Richie’s expression. He looked _angry_ , grinding his teeth together with his hands curled into fists, cigarette on the ground by his foot as he stared Stan down and Stan glared right back. He knew Richie had the right to be mad, but Stan wasn't perfect, and he had never been able to stop himself from getting angry right back whenever Richie was riled up about something.

“Am I-? What the _fuck_ Richie? You insensitive asshole, I just-,” Stan started, but Richie threw his hands up placatingly, the anger in his face quickly dissipating into concern, and Stan snapped his mouth shut to let Richie talk.

“I’m sorry, Stan, but you seriously don’t think we blame you for any of this, right? What happened to us was the fault of a fucking child eating space clown, not you. You’re talking about yourself like you’re some kind of terrible person, man, and I hate it because you’re one of the best people I know,” Richie wrapped his fingers around Stan’s wrist and squeezed, and Stan’s eyes stung with tears. 

“But I swore I’d come back and I didn’t. I was the _only one_ that didn’t,” Stan managed to choke out. 

Richie shook his head, smoothing his thumb across Stan’s pulse point.

“You were dealing with your own monsters,” Richie answered simply, but Stan scoffed at that, because it wasn’t an excuse. All of them had their problems, and Stan was the only one who couldn’t stand up and fight despite those problems. 

Richie rolled his eyes as if he could read Stan’s mind. “No arguments, Stanley. I’m glad you stayed in your cosy home with your gorgeous wife, and I’m glad that you’re here right now. I’m glad that you’re _alive._ The rest of it doesn’t matter.”

When they were kids, Richie had been the expert at bending the truth. He told people what they wanted to hear - or what he thought they wanted to hear - and could spin tales off his tongue like silk. If that didn’t work he’d revert back to being as loud as possible so that no one could hear the truth in between. Stan had used to pride himself on deciphering Richie’s bullshit, though Richie would never admit the truth to him anyway, Stan knew well enough.

But when it really mattered, when Stan needed Richie to tell him the truth without any lies or sugar coating, Richie would do it with one hand curled up into a fist and pressed against his chest, right near his heart. It was off a movie Richie had seen, and it had made Stan roll his eyes at first; calling him ridiculous even though it made him smile. It had meant that Stan knew whenever Richie was telling him the complete truth, because he would keep his fist to his chest, promising no bullshit.

Stan had to bite back a sob when Richie let go of Stan’s wrist to bring a fist up to his chest, both of them smiling at the old memory before Richie started to speak.

“God knows this could have ended so many different ways. Any of us could be dead right now, but we’re not. We’re here in this ridiculously expensive beach house, and we’re _together_ , and I think that’s pretty damn close to a miracle. I don’t regret a single thing that got us to this point, capeesh?”

Stan did start to cry then, but he could see that Richie’s eyes were shining too, and both of them pointedly looked away as they wiped their eyes.

“You know,” Richie piped up again, voice wavering slightly. “The clown talked about you. Told us It’d made sure to take you off the board because you were the weakest. It told us It was in your head, and was making sure you’d rot and give in to your fear.” his eyes glazed over whilst he spoke, hands shaking minutely as he looked back into something that he’d been trying hard to forget.

Stan knew how it felt to remember, like being dumped in ice cold water that made it almost impossible to breathe. “That’s how it felt,” he mumbled, digging his fingernails into his thighs and focusing on the sting so that the memory didn’t overwhelm him. “Like It was in my head and talking to me, making me remember everything that had ever scared me.”

“If that was all I’d remembered I wouldn’t have come back either,” Richie said resolutely. “I remembered you guys, first. You and Eds and Bill. Not so much your faces or anything specific, just feelings - happy stuff. But if I’d’ve remembered the fucking clown before I remembered you guys I couldn't have faced It.”

Stan wondered if he’d have done things differently if he’d had remembered his friends - his Losers - first. He loved them all so much, would do anything for them, even if he was scared out of his mind. He could never be sure how things would have played out in all the different possible universes, but he hoped that in at least one, he’d remembered the people he loved before he remembered the fear. He hoped that in that universe, he’d gone back to fight by their sides like he should have.

“Here’s the thing, I knew that clown was full of shit there and then when It started talking about you, because why would It need to take you off the board if you were so weak?” Richie reached out and rested his hand on top of Stan’s where he was still digging his nails into his skin, and Stan forced himself to relax. 

“It was scared of you, Stan. It didn’t want you to come because It knows that you’re the bravest out of all of us.”

Stan snorted. “Clearly not. A brave man wouldn’t do what I did.” A part of Stan’s brain was whispering to him, telling him that Richie was just trying to make him feel better, that he didn’t mean what he was saying. But the other part of his brain knew Richie, and knew that Richie would never lie like this just to make Stan feel better. Stan wasn’t sure which thought made him more uncomfortable. 

“Shut the fuck up Stan, you were always brave. Whenever Bill with his dumb hero complex charged into something head first like he always did and we followed like the loyal morons we are, you were there with a level head and actual rational thoughts, telling us we were all stupid and coming up with a plan to make sure we made it out of whatever the hell we were doing alive.” 

Stan turned his hand over, palm facing up so that he could hold Richie’s hand, and he heard Richie let out a small sigh of relief.

“You managed without me this time,” Stan replied quietly. The night of the call, Stan remembered thinking the same thing; that whatever Mike was calling him for was something that Mike could deal with on his own. He remembered thinking that Patty would cope without him just fine too; she was her own person, a force of nature by herself, and she didn’t need him. Stan was glad that those thoughts sent a jolt of fear through him now whenever he looked back on them, because he knew that they were wrong.

“We did,” Richie conceded, squeezing Stan’s hand. “But we were just lucky, I think. The clown messed with your head because It knew that with you there we’d have fucked it up in no time. It did this, not you.”

Richie seemed so much softer now than he had when they were children, and Stan felt a little glow of pride for him. The Richie Stan remembered would shout as loudly as he could, all too-bright colours and vulgar words so that no one would look at him for too long or too closely. Stan knew that Richie had a lot to hide back then, and his best method of hiding was in plain sight with carefully crafted disguises that made him look like something he wasn’t. Stan was glad that Richie didn’t feel like he needed to hide so much anymore, that he was trying hard to take down his defences and let people in. 

Stan had hidden a lot too, as a child, covering his feelings with harsh words and a straight face, because somewhere in between all of the cruelty, he’d learned that emotions were weaknesses that should be buried at all costs. He hoped that he had gotten softer over time too, had learned how to show the people that mattered just how much he loved them. 

Stan gave Richie’s hand one last squeeze before letting go, and both of them sat in silence for a few moments, feeling exposed and raw from talking about their feelings for far too long. Richie was twitchy beside Stan, tapping his foot and chewing on his lip, clearly uncomfortable with not filling up the silence with a joke or a voice, but trying his best not to ruin the moment. Stan was grateful for the fact that Richie knew how to read a situation sometimes, at least.

Stan often thought that Patty somehow just _knew_ when he needed her. Whenever he was sad or frustrated or just plain tired, she’d appear with her soft smile and kind eyes and made him feel like he could breathe again. 

He wasn’t surprised when Patty came around the corner, as if on cue, and Richie waved her over. 

“Come join us, Patty-cake!” he called, and Stan rolled his eyes at the name. Richie really did have to give a nickname to everyone he spent more than five minutes around - usually more than one, if he could. Unfortunately Patty had taken Richie’s nicknames as a badge of honour, so Richie kept coming up with different ones for her whenever he could.

Patty grinned and settled herself down in Stan’s lap, pressing a kiss to his cheek before turning to Richie. 

“Eddie was just telling us all about the date you two went on,” she said, smirking. Richie turned red very quickly and Stan blanched.

“You went on a _date_?” Stan demanded, trying not to sound too offended that Richie didn’t tell him. He still had no idea of what was going on with Richie and Eddie or the weird dance they’d been doing around each other since they were children, but maybe they were closer to getting their shit together than he thought.

Richie laughed shortly, still blushing. “We sure did. Went to the movies and a fancy restaurant. Eddie suggested we go on a date ‘cause we know each other in that weird cosmic way all of us do, but we don’t _know_ each other. We were apart for almost three decades, I guess he wanted to try and catch up.”

The Losers had been so close as children, sharing joys and fears and spending almost all of their time crammed as closely together as they could be. They were all comforts to each other, and Stan remembered feeling lost as a child whenever his friends weren’t nearby, as if he was missing parts of himself.

Years passed and their time spent apart was almost triple the time they’d spent together, but once they’d reunited Stan got that feeling back almost immediately, like chunks of himself had been gone all this time and suddenly he was sewn back together - complete.

Even still, they’d never known each other as adults, with jobs and homes and responsibilities. It was like they’d all been dragged back into the past when they were together as a seven at first, back to being a group of teenage outcasts with long summer days stretching ahead of them.

They’d all changed in so many ways, but as he watched Richie twitch nervously and rearrange his wonky glasses whilst reaching for another cigarette, Stan could still easily see the children they’d used to be.

“How was it?” Stan asked.

“The same as any regular old day,” Richie laughed, throwing his hands up. “We made fun of the stupid sounding food on the fancy menu and got glared at by a bunch of rich people for laughing too loud, and then we missed most of the movie because we talked through the whole thing.”

Richie softened, and Stan knew that look, because he’d seen it so many times before. It was part awestruck and part dazed, and Richie had looked at Eddie like that whenever he thought no one was watching. Stan hadn’t known what it had meant back then, not really, but he understood now. He was pretty sure he looked just as stupid whenever he looked at Patty and his heart felt like it was filled with molten gold.

“We fuckin’ live together, we’re around each other all the time, and we’re the same whether we’re in a ridiculously expensive restaurant or at home being slobs on the couch. I-” Richie stopped to take a drag of his new cigarette, wincing like he was choking on the words trying to come out. “I-I still love him just the same.” 

Patty cooed softly, tangling her and Stan’s fingers together.

“Have you told him that?” she asked, and Richie scoffed.

“ _Fuck_ no, Pitter-Pat. I already get to live with him and see his adorable face every day - that’s enough for me. I don’t wanna ruin that by telling him I’ve been in love with him since the dawn of time and scaring him off. I’ll just take what I can get until he realises he can do way better.”

Stan rolled his eyes. He knew that Richie had a lot of layers he'd had to fight through to admit that he was gay, let alone in love with someone - especially since that someone was his best friend. It was buried under years of learned self hatred and internalised homophobia and violently low self esteem. But Eddie and Richie had fallen back into each other with the ease of two souls that had been longing for each other, and Richie should have understood that by now, especially considering Eddie had moved across the country to be with him. Eddie looked at Richie like the sun shined out of his ass, laughed even when Richie told his worst jokes, and orbited around him like he couldn’t bear for them to be apart. When it came to Eddie, Stan was pretty sure that Richie had nothing to be afraid of.

But Stan didn’t say any of that, because Richie should already _get_ it. “Don’t be such a moron, Richie,” he snapped instead, making Richie scowl and flip him off. 

Patty was a lot more patient, and kinder than Stan could ever dream of being. “You should tell him,” she said with a smile, and then nudged Stan in the ribs. “Did you know that Stanley told me he loved me the first night we met?”

Richie lit up at that, honking out a cross between a laugh and a cheer.

“Stan the _man,”_ he crowed, “Did you really?”

Stan shrugged. “I knew she was it for me, so it wasn’t a hard thing to say,” he replied, giving Richie a pointed look and earning another scowl.

Stan still remembered the feeling, like bubbles starting at the tips of his toes and pushing up through his body, filling up his head with a cacophony of noise and colour. Every time Patty had laughed Stan had wanted to cling to that noise forever, cling to _her_ forever. She was everything he hadn’t even known he was looking for, and Stan knew that how he was feeling had to be love; nothing else could be so all consuming and so brilliantly bright.

Stan turned his head to look at Patty to find she was already grinning at him. Stan still felt sort of dizzy with the realisation that the feeling from that first night they’d met had never really left him.

“Shit, that’s so fucking romantic,” Richie breathed.

Patty’s smile turned into something a little more evil, and Stan groaned. She loved telling this story, and Stan hated it.

“He was very drunk,” She started, but Stan interrupted.

“I was not _drunk_ ,” he protested.

“Darling, you could barely stand.”

“I’d only had a couple of beers!”

Richie interjected, then, looking positively delighted. “You always were a lightweight, Stanley,” he said, and he and Patty reached over to high five each other. 

“He was drunk at a college party,” Patty started again, and Stan sighed quietly. “We spent the whole night talking, and he walked me back to my dorm like a real gent,” she stopped to wink at Stan then, and Stan kissed her forehead. “And before I went inside he said _I’m sorry, but I think I might love you,_ ” Patty’s impression of Stan was pretty much spot on, and it made both Richie and Stan collapse into laughter.

“Wow Stan, I remember when we were kids you couldn’t even look _Bev_ in the eye, let alone talk to any of the other girls,” Richie said when he’d calmed down. “What happened next, Patootie?”

“I offered for him to sleep on the couch, since his apartment was an hours walk away, and I kissed his cheek and told him to say it again when he was sober, if he still wanted to.”

“And did he?” Richie asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, totally entranced.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Fucking _obviously_ I did Richie, we’ve been together for twenty-two years.”

“Shut up Stan, you’re terrible at telling stories,” Richie retorted, not breaking his gaze from where he was still staring at Patty, who smiled a dreamy smile that made her dimples show and her eyes shine.

“He sure did. I woke up the next morning to him making pancakes in the kitchen, and he said it again over our first breakfast together.”

Stan remembered it like it was yesterday. Patty had come down the stairs with her hair sticking up in every direction, and she'd rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her face still creased up tiredly. He remembered the smile she’d given him when she saw him, and how she’d chattered away whilst she stacked pancakes onto her plate. They’d both ate one handed whilst they held hands under the table - something they still did now, two decades later. He remembered listening to her talk, oblivious to the smudge of whipped cream on her chin, and he remembered thinking, _oh, I want this forever_.

“Oh my god. You’re like something straight out of a Hallmark movie,” Richie choked out, his voice strangled. 

Patty grinned wide, squeezing Stan’s hand. “I did actually come here to tell you both that everyone’s looking for you because Ben’s going to make some food, but I never get bored of telling that story.”

They all got up and stretched, and Stan groaned, sore and cold from sitting in the shadows for too long. 

He grabbed Richie’s wrist just before they headed around the corner, giving him a pointed look.

“Talk to Eddie like a grown up. Tell him how you feel,” Stan commanded, and when Richie made a face, Stan reached up to flick his forehead. “This is your second chance, Richie, don’t ruin it just because you’re emotionally constipated.”

Richie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he gave a two fingered salute to Stan and followed Patty around the corner.

Everyone had moved again, with Ben by the barbecue, prodding at it with a spatula and holding a set of instructions in his other hand as he frowned down at it whilst Mike sat nearby trying to offer advice, even though he looked just as confused. Eddie, Bev, and Bill were all huddled on one of the sun loungers, heads together and papers strewn out in the middle of their circle.

“Well, well, what’s going on over here?” Richie asked in a voice Stan didn’t recognise but that made Eddie crack a smile as he looked up at him. 

“This is the divorcees club. We’re comparing notes,” he said, twisting around a little more so he could reach up and straighten Richie’s wonky glasses. 

Bill huffed, his own glasses almost falling off his face. “I d-don’t know if I b-b-belong here, I actually _like_ Audra. Sh-she was the one who wanted a d-d-duh-divorce.”

All of the others made sympathetic noises, and both Bev and Richie put hands on each of Bill’s shoulders, whilst Eddie rested a hand on his knee.

“You did say that it was for the best, though,” Bev reminded him, voice soft. “And you and Audra can still be friends, right?”

Bill nodded with a sigh, leaning back into his friend’s touches. Derry hadn’t let them all go the first time without putting in one last blow by taking away enough of their memories that it meant they’d forgotten the people they had been growing up into. It meant that they had ended up going in a completely different direction, with so many things lost and left behind. Once they got their memories back most of the Losers had started to change their paths again, finding out what made them happy without Derry making any decisions for them. Stan felt lucky that despite Derry trying to control his life and keep him afraid and small, that he’d still found Patty in between it all; had found his happiness so much sooner than his friends. 

Bill had met Audra when he was young, like Stan and Patty, but Audra and Bill had grown up and apart rather than grown together. Bill had told Stan that they were both stubborn, both full of fire neither wanted to dim in each other, but it meant that they clashed more often than not. It was completely different to Eddie and Bev, who had both left their partners to get out of something suffocating that had broken them both down and had meant they'd had to fight their way out. Bill’s story was just a sad, quiet ending to something he’d clung onto for a little bit longer than he should. 

Everyone piled back into a circle of eight again, the papers put away and replaced with more wine and plates full of burgers for everyone set in the middle.

“I made some veggie burgers and beef patties,” Ben explained when he sat the plates down, and Richie immediately burst into fits of laughter, clutching onto his stomach and leaning into Eddie.

“Beef patties!” he repeated loudly, then stretched his leg out to nudge Patty with his foot. “Hey Pats, can Beef Patty be another nickname?”

All of the others groaned, and Stan glared. “Absolutely not,” he grumbled, at the same time Patty burst out laughing along with Richie, curling her fingers around his ankle.

“That’s the weirdest one so far. But sure, why not?” she replied, still giggling. Stan rolled his eyes and gave Eddie a grateful thumbs up when he punched Richie in the arm as he cackled.

Stan leaned himself back on his hands and let his friend’s voices wash over him as they talked and ate and laughed together, and he wished he could explain to them just how happy being here made him. Not just at the ridiculously expensive beach house Ben had got them, but all in the same place; all seven of Stan’s favourite people in the whole world. He figured they could be anywhere - though, maybe not Derry, he thought bitterly - and as long as they were together, Stan would feel the happiest he could be. 

Bev lifted up her drink. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she started, and Mike chuckled.

“Under better circumstances than the last time you did this,” he said, and Richie, Ben, Bill, Eddie, and Bev all laughed loudly.

“It d-didn’t count last t-time anyway. S-St-Stan wasn’t there,” Bill said, and Stan felt something expand in his chest as all of the others nodded in agreement. 

“Well, this time it definitely counts. To the Losers.” Bev announced, holding her drink in the middle of the circle and grinning as the others copied, clinking their glasses and mugs together. Bev gave Patty a pointed look when she spoke again, eyes bright. “All eight of us, finally together.”

Patty’s lower lip wobbled, and Stan threaded their fingers together as he brought his glass to join the circle, looking around at all of his friend’s smiles as they cheered. 

Slowly, everyone drifted off to their rooms. Richie and Eddie went first, after Eddie kept falling asleep slumped against Richie’s shoulder despite insisting he wasn’t tired. Richie jokingly offered to give Eddie a piggyback to their room, and was more than delighted when Eddie grunted an okay and wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and legs around his waist, letting Richie carry him back inside with Eddie's crutches tucked haphazardly under his arm. 

Bill went next, stumbling to his room as he tried to walk and read the book Mike had given him at the same time, mumbling out distracted goodnights to the others. Mike had already fallen asleep on one of the sun loungers on the other side of the pool, his arm draping off the side and mouth hanging open. He’d been travelling all over for the past few months since everyone had been discharged from the hospital, and had driven through the day and night to get from where he was in New Orleans to Miami just to see his friends. 

Bev and Ben disappeared to their room just after Bill, and Bev stopped to press sloppy kisses to both Stan and Patty’s cheeks, as well as blowing a kiss over to a still sleeping Mike. 

It was just Patty and Stan left awake, and Patty settled her head in Stan’s lap, staring up at him as he carded his fingers through hair with one hand and held his book with the other as they sat together in silence. It was late but still humid, so Patty’s hair was curling around her temples, and Stan could feel his skin getting clammy with sweat, but neither of them minded - it felt much more familiar to them than the cold. Stan barely remembered the endless rain of Maine anymore after living in Atlanta for so long, and Atlanta was always where he said he came from if anyone ever asked. Warmth reminded him of the sunny yellow wallpaper in the living room of their house, of nights spent sleeping with just his and Patty's hands tangled together when it was too warm to hold each other close like they wanted to. Warmth reminded him of Patty, of home.

Patty was humming softly to herself, her fingers tapping against her knee as if she was playing her piano along with the song in her head, and Stan put his book down just to listen to her. The sound of the city was far enough away that it was just white noise, paired up with the water splashing rhythmically against the docks. Stan focused on Patty’s humming and her fingertips drumming in time, and all the other sounds around them seemed to fade out.

“How many embarrassing stories about me did they tell you?” Stan asked eventually, quiet, so that he didn’t break the peace.

Patty smirked, a glint in her eyes as she reached up to prod Stan’s nose. “ _So_ many. My favourite was the one about you getting fleas.”

Stan groaned, hunching over as Patty giggled. “That was all Mike’s fault, he was the one who brought those stray kittens into the clubhouse. I had to burn my favourite sweater because of him and those damn cats.”

Mike chuckled from where he was lying then, awake and stretching his arms above his head with a wide yawn. “You didn’t _have_ to burn anything, Stan, you were just dramatic about being itchy and didn’t believe me when I told you the flea powder would work.”

Patty was still giggling, and laughter bubbled up in Stan's chest at the sound of it. 

“Can we stop talking about this now? I’m itchy just thinking about it,” Stan grumbled, scratching at his head and grinning when Mike and Patty started laughing even louder.

Mike yawned again as he hauled himself up to his feet and rubbed at his face before shuffling around the pool towards the doors leading into the house. 

“I’ll tell you some more embarrassing stories about Stan tomorrow, Patty. We’ve got plenty,” he teased, leaning over to squeeze both Stan and Patty’s shoulders as he passed. Stan grumbled under his breath but both Mike and Patty ignored him, blowing kisses to each other before Mike called out a goodnight and disappeared to his room.

“I hope you know how much they all love you, Stanley,” Patty said softly once Mike was out of view. She was looking at Stan with an expression that looked close to awe, and Stan used his free hand to trace the lines of her face.

“I do,” Stan said, and he meant it. When he was a child he’d doubted it, sometimes. He’d so often felt far too much like he was on the outside looking in, like he didn’t quite belong. But then his friends would prove him wrong every time by bringing him close into their circle and showing him that they knew him and loved him so much. 

They were older now, and any doubts he had about his friends caring about him was gone. They’d gone through far too much together, spent a tragic amount of time without each other’s love for Stan to let his irrational doubts get the better of him now.

“And you know that they don’t resent you, not even a little bit?” Patty asked next. Stan flinched, feeling his chest tighten.

“Richie tried to tell me they didn’t, I’m sure the others will too,” he sighed. His fingers had stopped where they’d been tracing Patty’s face, paused just below her lower lip, and she tilted her head down so that she could press a kiss to the tip of Stan’s index finger. 

“But do you believe them?” she asked. Stan was sure she already knew the answer to this question, too.

“I don’t think I can,” Stan replied quietly, because he never lied to Patty, and he’d never felt like he needed to. “I abandoned them when they needed me because I was too much of a coward to face my fears. They could have _died.”_

Patty took Stan’s hand so that she could kiss his palm this time, and the weight of her head in his lap and the warmth of her mouth against his skin kept Stan grounded so that he didn’t get lost in his thoughts.

“But they _didn’t_ die. They’re here with us in this glorious beach house that Ben definitely spent far too much money on,” Patty said, smiling when Stan huffed out a laugh. “And you didn’t abandon them, darling. You didn’t have a choice.”

Stan frowned at that. “I did have a choice, and I should have gone back, I swore to them-” he started, but Patty was already shaking her head before she cut him off.

“Do you even really remember what happened that night?”

Stan only remembered it in fragments, from the phone call to razorblades and blood pooling in his palms, then to Patty’s hand clinging on tightly to his as tears streamed down her face. Stan had tried not to think too hard about it, the guilt of it all being so overwhelming that it made him sick. But now that he tried to think of it, it was much more fuzzy than he thought it should be. Stan shook his head slowly, and Patty sat herself up so that she was facing Stan properly, her hand reaching up to push his hair away from his sweaty forehead. 

“I think you’d taken too many of your sleeping pills. You couldn’t say how many, but I knew it was more than you should have,” Patty started, and Stan vaguely remembered thinking that if he just took a few of the sleeping tablets his doctor had given him, he might be able to forget about everything. He couldn’t remember how many he’d poured out into his hand, either, but it was definitely much more than the two a night he’d been prescribed. 

“Stanley, you weren’t just afraid, you were _broken_. It was like you weren’t with me in our house, but somewhere where I couldn’t reach you, and wherever you were was scaring you so badly that you couldn’t bear to be alive,” Patty’s voice was matter of fact - her teaching voice, Stan called it, the one she used when she was talking to her students - but Stan didn’t miss how her lip quivered and her eyes began to water.

“You know I’d _never_ leave you, babylove,” Stan said insistently, reaching out and tangling his and Patty’s fingers together. Stan meant it in every sense of the word, with every fibre of his being, and he never wanted his wife to think any differently. He would never forgive himself for scaring her like he had in that moment of fear and irrationality, and he wanted to make sure that he never would again.

Patty nodded as if she already knew, but her shoulders sagged with relief at Stan’s words regardless.

“I know, but you need to know that this wasn’t just you being a little nervous and choosing to stay home watching Criminal Minds reruns with me.”

“I hate that show,” Stan muttered nonsensically. 

“I know you do, love. But you do like it when you figure out the ending before it happens.”

They both grinned at each other for a few moments, Stan leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Patty’s lips before her face grew serious again.

“You were in a bad place, Stanley. I’ve never seen your anxiety that bad before, and I hope I never do again. This was out of your control. I know it, your friends know it, now you just need to know it.”

Stan ducked his head, staring down at his and Patty’s hands. He didn’t think the sting of guilt would ever leave him completely, but he trusted Patty more than anything, and if she believed what she was saying, then he wanted to, too.

“I hate it,” Stan spat, squeezing Patty’s hand. “I hate that it was out of my control. I hate that I can’t change it.” 

The main reason Stan didn’t look back on that night too much wasn’t because of the fear, but because of the feeling that he’d lost himself completely. Stan liked structure, he saw in black and white and definites, and he lived on facts. Facts like the earth was round, and the sky was blue, and that monsters aren't real. 

Learning that the last fact wasn’t true had made Stan unravel as a child. Then he'd forgotten about it, and the ground had felt steady again, right up until he remembered that untrue fact once more. Stan hated that his mother’s reassurances that there were no monsters under his bed should have been an unshakeable truth, and he hated how much it ruined him when he remembered the impossible creature that was waiting in the sewers for him and his friends to go home. 

“I know you do, sweetheart, but you need to accept it, or else you’ll be stuck in that dark place forever,” Patty said, her voice soft but sure as she twirled one of Stan's curls on her finger, making his mouth tilt up into a small smile. 

Patty waited until Stan looked her in the eye to speak again, and she let go of his hand so she could cup his face gently, thumbs rubbing across his cheeks.

“You are the bravest man I’ve ever known, Stanley Uris,” she said with complete conviction, and then her smile turned into a smirk as she winked and added, “and I’ve known a _lot_ of men.”

Stan choked on a laugh and tilted his head forward so that his and Patty’s foreheads were pressed together. This wasn’t the first time she’d told Stan that he was brave, and probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time that Stan had wanted to believe it, rather than just brushing it off. 

“I love you,” he said in return, because he and Patty never thanked each other; there was no need. They just said what needed to be said, and Stan needed Patty to know just how much he loved her every single day. 

Patty grinned, bright and beautiful, the same way she did whenever Stan told her that he loved her, like it was a surprise, and she moved so that her head was resting on his shoulder.

Stan wrapped his arms around Patty’s waist and took a deep breath. It felt like the first time he’d had room to breathe properly since Mike’s phone call over six months ago. His life as he knew it had been turned upside down, and it had felt like he’d had to start over, being forced to see the world in a completely different way. 

But one thing hadn’t changed, and that was Patty. She had been by his side since they were in their twenties, still finding their place in the world, and it hadn’t taken long for Stan to learn that his place was wherever she was. He felt like his life had been split in two before, a canyon in between his forgotten childhood and the life he had built for himself despite the fuzzy memories and fear he couldn’t name trailing behind him. Now that the two had come together and the dust had settled, it was a harmony he had never experienced before. It was unfamiliar and familiar all at the same time, nostalgic but new, and Stan didn’t know how to even start deciphering everything he was feeling.

He knew it was good though, whatever all the feelings were. Most of them were overwhelmingly good, so Stan leant into it, unafraid and buzzing with something that almost felt like excitement. 

Before Mike’s call, Stan and Patty had plans to go on holiday, had tickets booked that were never used because once Stan had gotten home from seeing his friends at the hospital he’d stayed in bed for a whole week after. They had plans to redecorate one of their spare rooms into a proper craft room, a place to keep all of their painting materials and Patty’s sewing machine; Stan had wanted to buy her a pottery wheel for their anniversary, too. But that room was still full of boxes, another thing put on hold.

A year ago, Stan and Patty had started to seriously consider getting the ball rolling for adoption. Patty had always talked about wanting to adopt since they were young, and whilst Stan could easily see her as a mother, he’d been terrified at the thought of being a father. He was too anxious, too indecisive and cautious and untrusting of the world, and he could never picture himself being any good for a child. 

But Stan knew love, because he was always surrounded by it. He had so much love to give and a whole new future curled out in front of him, and now the thought of having a child to share even more of that love with didn’t feel quite as scary anymore.

Patty sighed, breaking into Stan’s thoughts as she slouched further into him. “We’re going to have to make these group holidays a tradition,” she said. “Once a year, maybe? We could each take turns to pick a place to go.”

Stan hummed his agreement, a spark of joy lighting in his chest at the reminder that Patty loved his friends just as much as he did, and that they loved her right back.

“Maybe next year we’ll need to pick somewhere a little more child friendly. Do you think the others will mind?” Stan asked, and Patty twisted herself round to stare at Stan wide eyed. 

“You still want to try and adopt? Are you sure?” Patty asked. As always, Stan knew that she already knew his answer, and that was clear from the happiness rolling off of her in waves.

“I’m sure. They have the best mother in the world waiting for them, as well as five brilliant uncles and one brilliant aunt, too.”

Patty was beaming as she looked at Stan, and he knew that he was grinning back just as brightly, his grin growing even wider when she reached out and put her hand to his chest. 

“ _And_ the best father,” Patty corrected pointedly. Stan ducked his head.

“I hope so,” he replied, because he so desperately wanted to be the person his wife and his friends thought he was, and he wanted to be enough for his child, too, when they came along.

“I _know_ so,” Patty retorted with a challenging raise of her eyebrows that made Stan laugh out loud before leaning forward to kiss her. 

Stan had the rest of his life ahead of him, and he could see it all now without any fear. He could talk to his friends who he’d missed for so long whenever he wanted, and he knew for sure that he’d never lose them again. He would be able to tell his child with absolute certainty that there were no monsters under their bed when they were scared, and he would get to grow old with the girl he’d loved since the first day he saw her. 

There was no catch. Just a life waiting for him filled with beautiful, unfamiliar normality, and Stan couldn’t wait to live it.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zmxfd3Z_wBA)  
> im still working on a stitch away, its just pretty heavy and takes a lot of effort, so idk when the next part will be up (sorry)
> 
> come visit me on [tumblr](https://call-this-a-mask.tumblr.com/), if you like!  
> thanks for reading <3


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